![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Life lessons
Oct. 3rd, 2005 09:44 pmMy calculus textbook keeps reminding me to "Be clever!"
Thanks for the tip.
Thanks for the tip.
I'm going to have to scrounge for help on my calculus tomorrow. It's forking confusing and unclear.
I'm back in Phoenix, at any rate. The flight sucked, as I already had a tension headache to begin with before we even boarded the plane in Texas. I spent the flight to Las Vegas reading the college report and giving myself an even worse headache. Las Vegas airport smells like an ashtray, especially the B-terminal, for some reason. Tobacco in the abstract does not smell so bad, but something about cigarette smoke doesn't agree with me. Lotsa slot machines, though. On the flight from Vegas to Sky Harbor I helped Rachel with her algebra, and she claims I'm the best tutor she's ever had, so score one for me. Hopefully the kids I have to tutor in physics for community service think the same.
I had an odd dream last night. Anybody remember David (the David I talked to for, like, five minutes) from Anime Expo? I dreamed that when I knocked on the door of some-odd-friend I had made (I think we were in Pampa), he answered the door as her brother and looked rather swarthy and irritated, like the gay artist kid in Wedding Crashers. I asked him if he was who I thought he was, and he said, "My name is George; you got it wrong, bitch." Then he tried to kill me. Seriously; for some reason the Rofflecopter had a sunroof, and David-George spent quite a great deal of time trying to climb through it while I was driving, legs-first, so that he could kill me. I think he had a handgun or something useful like that.
Somebody in psychology or studying Freud or Jung in greater depth than I have, tell me what the hell that means.
Well, the other night I dreamed that the Nerd Herd was fishing out in the Gulf of Mexico with Hurricane Rita approaching, and I had to fly over there and warn them to get the heck out of dodge before they drowned.
Oh, on Saturday I saw Flightplan with Mom and Rachel, since Sean Bean is in it and Mom fancies him, and there is nothing else to do in Amarillo but see movies. It was a better movie than I thought it was going to be. Jodie Foster did an excellent job as usual, though I was sure I could catch snatches of her Clarice Starling / West Virgina accent at some points, and her character was supposed to be a New Englander who had been working in Germany. All in all a good weekend for movies.
I'm back in Phoenix, at any rate. The flight sucked, as I already had a tension headache to begin with before we even boarded the plane in Texas. I spent the flight to Las Vegas reading the college report and giving myself an even worse headache. Las Vegas airport smells like an ashtray, especially the B-terminal, for some reason. Tobacco in the abstract does not smell so bad, but something about cigarette smoke doesn't agree with me. Lotsa slot machines, though. On the flight from Vegas to Sky Harbor I helped Rachel with her algebra, and she claims I'm the best tutor she's ever had, so score one for me. Hopefully the kids I have to tutor in physics for community service think the same.
I had an odd dream last night. Anybody remember David (the David I talked to for, like, five minutes) from Anime Expo? I dreamed that when I knocked on the door of some-odd-friend I had made (I think we were in Pampa), he answered the door as her brother and looked rather swarthy and irritated, like the gay artist kid in Wedding Crashers. I asked him if he was who I thought he was, and he said, "My name is George; you got it wrong, bitch." Then he tried to kill me. Seriously; for some reason the Rofflecopter had a sunroof, and David-George spent quite a great deal of time trying to climb through it while I was driving, legs-first, so that he could kill me. I think he had a handgun or something useful like that.
Somebody in psychology or studying Freud or Jung in greater depth than I have, tell me what the hell that means.
Well, the other night I dreamed that the Nerd Herd was fishing out in the Gulf of Mexico with Hurricane Rita approaching, and I had to fly over there and warn them to get the heck out of dodge before they drowned.
Oh, on Saturday I saw Flightplan with Mom and Rachel, since Sean Bean is in it and Mom fancies him, and there is nothing else to do in Amarillo but see movies. It was a better movie than I thought it was going to be. Jodie Foster did an excellent job as usual, though I was sure I could catch snatches of her Clarice Starling / West Virgina accent at some points, and her character was supposed to be a New Englander who had been working in Germany. All in all a good weekend for movies.
So. English IV AP, vaguely listening to the teacher discuss point-of-view as a rhetorical device. This old illustration of the reliability of a first-person narrator comes up.
Prather: Have any of you had two friends who were dating get into a fight and, more or less, both tell you their versions of their stories?
Lauren: (muttering) Yes...
Prather: A boy and a girl--
Lauren: Never mind.
I feel sorry for Pat for having to listen to me mutter so much during that class.
I absolutely loathe calculus homework. The test is tomorrow, and I still need to finish the final assignment. My mind keeps wandering everywhere else. Can't say I blame it.
Suck it, Calculus Concepts and Applications.
Oh, Terry Pratchett's new book comes out today. I have not read Discworld in far too long. Lately I've been reading Tamora Pierce like the thirteen-year-old girl I am deep down inside, and I'm going to read Hannibal, because Thomas Harris is that awesome, Hannibal Lecter is that fun, Clarice Starling is that hot, and my fascination with the dark side of human nature goes too far. And I like a smart thrill. Supposedly this little volume is one of the best out there for that.
Prather: Have any of you had two friends who were dating get into a fight and, more or less, both tell you their versions of their stories?
Lauren: (muttering) Yes...
Prather: A boy and a girl--
Lauren: Never mind.
I feel sorry for Pat for having to listen to me mutter so much during that class.
I absolutely loathe calculus homework. The test is tomorrow, and I still need to finish the final assignment. My mind keeps wandering everywhere else. Can't say I blame it.
Suck it, Calculus Concepts and Applications.
Oh, Terry Pratchett's new book comes out today. I have not read Discworld in far too long. Lately I've been reading Tamora Pierce like the thirteen-year-old girl I am deep down inside, and I'm going to read Hannibal, because Thomas Harris is that awesome, Hannibal Lecter is that fun, Clarice Starling is that hot, and my fascination with the dark side of human nature goes too far. And I like a smart thrill. Supposedly this little volume is one of the best out there for that.
"Beethoven's Ninth Symphony (Ode to Joy)" has been my best friend all afternoon, since I got home from school and sat down to do my final additions and drafts for the fiction contest. And, oh, it feels so good to have that finally done and submitted. The deadline is "before September 1", and I submitted at 8:45-ish PM Arizona Time, which is congruent with Pacific Time right now. I did not realize until I was looking at the address for the application fee that the moderator lives in... Maryland. On the East Coast. I hope to dear god she considers that most of the entries are coming from the West Coast area, or that for us, it was still four hours from September 1.
PLZ. Because if I'm defeated by forty-five minutes on the freaking East Coast, I'll maim a rabbit.
One of Rachel's friends overdosed on heroin and died this morning, which is pretty horrific. His mother found him and thought that he was just sleeping. I can't even imagine being in that position. He was not one of Rachel's close friends, but she hung out with him over the summer, and she saw him Sunday night. She's pretty upset. I wish there was something I could say or do to make her feel better. And, though I don't even know his family, I feel horrible for them too. Call it common human empathy.
Mom is back until Monday afternoon. She looks utterly exhausted, and she has so little energy anymore. I'm realizing that this may be my last year at home, as is she; when I mentioned that I will be legal in a month and a half, she told me never to mention it again.
I was planning on showing up to Men's Choir tomorrow morning per suggestion and seeing how long it would take Tutnick to realize that I am lacking some key prerequisites for joining, but I'm going to do it next week instead. I have a short-hair wig and some pretty boysy clothes that make short work of my figure, and the voice that makes people think I am my father over the phone, so this might actually fly for, like, five minutes. I'm just five-foot-four and have very fine, feminine features; that might be a problem. I have to actually start tonight's homework, and the past three nights I have not gotten much sleep. But soon, my brothers.
Calculus test results: t3h suck. And all on simple mistakes, too. RAGE.
I start homework now. But I'm still feeling the completed-story high.
PLZ. Because if I'm defeated by forty-five minutes on the freaking East Coast, I'll maim a rabbit.
One of Rachel's friends overdosed on heroin and died this morning, which is pretty horrific. His mother found him and thought that he was just sleeping. I can't even imagine being in that position. He was not one of Rachel's close friends, but she hung out with him over the summer, and she saw him Sunday night. She's pretty upset. I wish there was something I could say or do to make her feel better. And, though I don't even know his family, I feel horrible for them too. Call it common human empathy.
Mom is back until Monday afternoon. She looks utterly exhausted, and she has so little energy anymore. I'm realizing that this may be my last year at home, as is she; when I mentioned that I will be legal in a month and a half, she told me never to mention it again.
I was planning on showing up to Men's Choir tomorrow morning per suggestion and seeing how long it would take Tutnick to realize that I am lacking some key prerequisites for joining, but I'm going to do it next week instead. I have a short-hair wig and some pretty boysy clothes that make short work of my figure, and the voice that makes people think I am my father over the phone, so this might actually fly for, like, five minutes. I'm just five-foot-four and have very fine, feminine features; that might be a problem. I have to actually start tonight's homework, and the past three nights I have not gotten much sleep. But soon, my brothers.
Calculus test results: t3h suck. And all on simple mistakes, too. RAGE.
I start homework now. But I'm still feeling the completed-story high.
